


Blame It On The Rain

by Scythela



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Fluff, Hand Jobs, India, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Rain, Sharing Clothes, Sharing Umbrellas, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Umbrellas, lots of arguments too, this is my first smut fic so be gentle with me please, you'll be surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25728034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scythela/pseuds/Scythela
Summary: “Aha, but you were!” He jabbed an angry finger in Paul’s direction. “You were! Always ‘we can’t’, ‘it’s just not possible’, or hell, even the simplest fucking ‘no’! Oh, and you were so stern and sure about it! You won’t let me get a damn word in before you go on prattling about the fucking tabloids hot on our tails. What’s it going to be this time? ‘I came here to say goodbye’ or did you come here because my beloved wife sent you on her behalf?”------John didn't take too kindly to rejection. Brokenhearted, he ran off into the forest to sulk. Cynthia got worried and asked Paul what happened. The truth comes out.
Relationships: John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my second fic on this site. significantly shorter, but i hope you like it :))

Rishikesh, the yoga capital of the world. After an intriguing seminar in Bangor, the Beatles fled to India accompanied by their wives, Apple staff, and other celebrities. The Maharishi welcomed them warmly, greeting all with “Namaste” as they stepped foot into the spiritual compound. Everyone was back at the ashram, huddled in their makeshift bungalows with heating and electricity while the locals rejoiced in the cold rain, some even meditating under the sky’s shower.

Although it was a place for transcendental meditation, Cynthia felt anxiety eat her away as she paced around her room. It had been several hours since she last saw John storm off into the forest. Paul emerged soon after, face strangely red. Cynthia, rightfully worried, asked him what happened, only to be dismissed by flimsy reassurance. She watched him as he walked back to his house, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Another private row, it seemed. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. If anything, it was becoming the new norm as they continued to work on together. Not a day went by that their voices would become hoarse due to screaming matches instead of arduous singing. The trip offered a brief reprieve that neither accepted, opting to stay away from meditation groups in favour of idly strumming their guitars.

What kind of fight caused a rift like that? As each second ticked away, thoughts of John niggled her mind with increasing frequency. Cynthia decided that enough was enough and grabbed her umbrella from her bag, sheltering herself from the rain as she walked up to the door of Paul’s house. She knocked and heard deadbolts slide aside.

Sure enough, there was Paul McCartney. Although he tried to hide his distress by trying to maintain a neutral face, his red puffy eyes and messy hair betrayed his intended demeanour. He looked exhausted, drained, and on the verge of a breakdown. Even so, he had to keep appearances. After all, he’d been part of the band that fought tooth and nail for their exclusive spot in the industry’s spotlight. It was always “fake it till you make it”, as they said.

“Cynthia, Namaste.”

“Namaste,” she replied politely, noting his unkempt appearance.

“What brings you here?” he asked, voice rasping.

“I need to know what happened between you and John,” she stated firmly. “And please don’t say it’s nothing. John wouldn’t have run off if it was nothing.”

“Cyn, it’s nothing important, you don’t need to get involved.” He waved her off with a dismissive hand. “It’s not worth talking about.”

“Don’t think me daft, I know it’s _something_.”

“Well, it’s something you don’t need to know about.”

“As his wife, I want to know what happened to my husband.”

There it was, the marital card that Cynthia could finally pull. Though it worked, the “marriage” part was still null, she knew that very well. At the mention of their marital status, Paul pursed his lips into a thin line. She raised a good point. “Let’s talk inside.” He moved aside and held the door open for her. “Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ could know about this, alright?”

“Alright.”

The metal stretchers of the umbrella fold closed and Cynthia wiped her leather sandals on the jute doormat before stepping in. Once Paul ensured privacy by sliding the deadbolts back in place and undoing the ribbons that drew the curtains, the whole room was silent, save for the rain from outside.

Cynthia wordlessly sat on the rattan settee and patted it, offering a seat. The thin cushions sank as Paul hesitantly sat, distancing himself from her. Agitated, his eyes averted their gaze to the wooden floors.

This confrontation left a bad taste in Paul’s mouth. He didn’t think that it would’ve happened so soon, but a strange part of him hoped that it did. That little part of him hoped that it would bring a cessation to the mess that transpired, while the bigger part of him loathed the idea of talking about the issue in the first place.

“Cynthia, promise me you won’t get upset,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I promise you I won’t. I just want to know what happened, alright?”

“Thank you,” he let out a shaky breath of relief. “God, how do I say this?” He hung his head low, pressing his skilled fingers against his temples and moving them in soothing circles. “John and I… Well, we… We had a… We had a row.”

Cynthia nodded. That was obvious enough. “I gathered as much.”

“It was about our relationship.”

There it was. As the words jumped from the tip of Paul’s tongue, a train of thought chugged around the tracks of Cynthia’s head. They had a relationship, yes, but what kind? What type of relationship ends in such a fight that devastates both parties?

“We’ve been secretly together for several years now, I’d say ever since 1961. Since your marriage was failing, he was considering divorce and asked to be in a proper relationship with me. I said no, called him crazy, explained how bad that would’ve been for the public image and Jules, and he just… started yelling at me before storming off.” He paused, biting his lip. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad, Paul…” Cynthia sighed. “I saw this coming a long time ago.”

“You what?” Paul’s tired eyes widened in shock at this revelation, hands gripping the edge of the settee to brace himself.

“I knew something was different between you two. At first, I thought it was just because you grew up together, but then I started thinking differently.” She bashfully twiddled her thumbs. “We… we haven’t been intimate in years. I got a bit competitive and tried to do everything to get him to stay with me when he tried to stick with other people. Strangely, he never clung to anyone but you.”

“Hold on, you knew?”

“I didn’t know that you were this involved with each other, but I sensed that something was going on. He doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you anymore.” She smiled wistfully. “It makes me sad because I still love him, even after everything he did. But I see that he only has eyes for you, Paul. I think all of us could see it. This kind of love only comes once in a lifetime and I’m... I’m ready to let him go.”

“Hold on— what about Julian?” Paul couldn’t believe anything he was hearing. “Doesn’t he have a say in this? Cyn, don’t be foolish. You can’t deprive the boy of a father, you know what happened to John when it happened to him!”

“Julian’s smart, he always knew that John and I never worked in the first place. I’m afraid that our boy’s growing up a bit faster than I expected.”

Paul shook his head in disagreement. “I don’t want him to grow up with a broken family. One ruined Lennon is enough.”

“He has his mother, doesn’t he?” Cynthia smiled, beaming with a mother’s pride. “Of course, I want him to grow up with his father’s love, and I already know that John holds Julian close to his heart, like a true father.”

“I…” Paul trailed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Paul shot up from his seat, hands animated as they gesture wildly. “Still! What about Jane? I just can’t break things up with her! I wanted to spend more time with her and I finally got this trip.” He thumbed the ring that constricted his finger, a metallic reminder that he chose Jane over John. The engagement was Jane’s attempt to tie him down, but it was ineffective. Many times he had been unfaithful and many times it had been with John, whether he regretted it or not.

“I know about your problems with Jane. John told me all about them.”

Lennon, ever the gossip, can’t keep secrets unless they’re his. Paul rolled his eyes.

“So you already have an idea of how things are between us. Everything feels different,” he grumbled, folding his arms. “Shit, I don’t know, this year has been particularly hard for us. We rarely see each other nowadays. I’m in my studio, she’s in hers, we meet every month or so. But I still don’t want to cut her out of my life completely.”

“But are you really willing to keep her at the risk of losing John?”

The bassist doesn’t answer.

“Well, do you love Jane?”

“I…” Paul sighed. “I do.”

“But do you love Jane as much as you love John?”

“Cyn, you can’t—”

“Do you love John?”

Paul froze. He bit his lip, hesitation riddling his features. His chest heaved when he took a deep breath or two as he composed himself for one of the most important questions in his life. A million answers buzz around his head like a swarm of hostile bees, but he didn’t look in his head for an answer.

He looked into his heart.

“I do,” Paul confessed, the forts built around his feelings crumbling like ancient towers of broken stone. His steel exterior rusted and disintegrated, exposing his cracked heart of glass. “I’m sorry, I love him so much. It hurts to hurt him like that.”

“Don’t apologize for loving a person. Now, go get him before it’s too late. Talk to him and tell him how you _truly_ feel. If he lashes out on you, just stay calm and be gentle with him. He’s feeling very broken right now.”

“I’ll bring him back, Cyn. Don’t worry.”

Cynthia’s eyes glistened with tears as she scooted over to Paul, wrapping her arms around his frame. Paul hugged her back, gratefulness and relief oozing from every pore of his body. “Thank you, Paul,” she uttered, small pearls of tears dotting Paul’s shirt with damp spots.

They broke apart from their embrace, relieved to finally have the closure they so desperately wanted. It felt like getting a blessing or getting relieved of the burdens that plagued his mind. Paul stood from the settee and rummaged through his luggage to procure an umbrella and a shawl. He wasn’t taking any chances with the nippy winds of Northern India any time soon. He wrapped the cashmere cloth around his shoulders and walked to the door.

“Thank you, Cyn. Truly.”

When he opened it, Paul raised an outstretched palm to the sky before opening his umbrella and setting off on his journey, determined to find John. The rain landed in dull thumps against the Teflon canvas of the umbrella, the pitter-patter resembling static noise to his ears. It seemed that everything glistened as raindrops clung to green leaves, the rain only enhancing the beauty of the lush rainforest. Still, Paul's eyes focused not on the greenery, but on finding a familiar silhouette hidden amongst the trees.

“John?”

The entire compound was 14 acres large, surrounded by a jungle that stretched across the river Ganges. Denser parts of the place were reserved for meditation. The overcast Rishikesh sky provided very little light as he traversed through the thicket, but he managed to walk without tripping on roots and bushes. Fallen leaves crunch under the weight of his sandals as he traversed the land.

“John?”

He couldn’t imagine a life without John, it just wasn’t possible. He’d been with him for decades and the thought of losing him well… terrified Paul. It felt like losing half of yourself or becoming hollow in the heart, and Paul wanted neither of those.

“John?”

Still no luck. The longer Paul couldn’t find him, the more his anxiety grew into a hideous monster that feasted on his thoughts. It fed into his paranoia that John did something dramatically irrational again— something that was quintessentially _John_. What if Paul couldn’t find him? Would he think that Paul abandoned him forever? Would _he_ think of abandoning Paul? It was an endless stream of thoughts that became a violent waterfall. Thus, his heart raced and his feet moved faster until his jog evolved into a full run. At each breath he took, puffs of white clouds feebly obscured his vision, the air around him growing colder and colder.

“John?” he called out, dying for a response.

No reply.

“John?”

Still no answer.

“John, please!”

He was losing hope.

Even though the rain became a loud torrent resembling the storms over oceans, Paul heard a distinct nasal snivel. He whips his head over the direction, sprinting to its source and almost tripping on a branch in the process. Sure enough, he sees a silhouette huddled beneath a tree with thick leaves, the branches providing mediocre shelter from the rain. He stuck out of the greenery like a sore thumb. Shivers wracked his body, from either sobbing or the cold… most likely both.

A million emotions flooded Paul’s beating heart at once, some of relief and happiness, others of pain and regret. The ivory cage in his chest rattled when he rushed forward and threaded through the thicket, not caring if the branches caught his umbrella.

“John!” His voice cracked, embarrassingly going up an octave.

Sure enough, there sat John Lennon, huddled with his back against a tree. His eyes widened behind his spectacles and Paul saw that they were full of pain, malice, sorrow, anger, melancholy, and every little nasty emotion that afflicted his green heart.

“Look who came crawling back, the king of asses himself, Paul McCartney!” He stood up and clapped sardonically, like a mocking Charley Chimp. “Get the fuck away from me. Why the fuck are you here?” He hissed, violently kicking and screaming when Paul got too close.

“Love, please!”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” John snarled bitterly. “You don’t _love_ me to call me that, do you? Yeah, you made sure to give me your answer earlier and now I fucking got it.”

“I do love you, John. I do.” He knelt on the ground, not giving a damn for his now mud-stained kurta. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for being such an ass.”

“Yeah, you were, but it’s too late, innit? Don’t you fucking dare toss me your pitiful apologies, they’re a crock of shit.” John slammed his fist against the trunk, skin breaking upon contact with the bark. “I try to be fucking honest with you for once, you shoot me down. Never again.”

“John, I wasn’t—”

“Aha, but you _were_!” He jabbed an angry finger in Paul’s direction. “You were! Always ‘we can’t’, ‘it’s just not possible’, or hell, even the simplest fucking ‘no’! Oh, and you were so stern and sure about it! You won’t let me get a damn word in before you go on _prattling_ about the fucking tabloids hot on our tails. What’s it going to be this time? ‘I came here to say goodbye’ or did you come here because my beloved wife sent you on her behalf?”

“John, let me explain!” Paul’s voice boomed, startling a few birds to fly out of their nests. “I’ve made up my mind after I talked to Cynthia, alright?”

At the mention of her name, John ceased his hostile reactions and opted to rest his back against the tree, shoulders hunched and arms folded. He let out a harsh exhale from his nose, resembling a bull when the white puffs emerged from the cold air.

“I told her about us, John. She didn’t get upset,” said Paul, picking his words with great care and meticulousness. “Sad, yes, but she accepted us. She’s fine with splitting up with you as long as you still take care of Julian.”

“Oh yeah? What of Jane, then? What about your beloved redhead?”

“Haven’t talked to her yet,” Paul gripped the crooked handle of his umbrella, tense all over. “But I realized that I should’ve ended things sooner instead of lying to both of us. You of all people know that.”

John dismissed the information with a scoff. “So? Think I fucking care after you left me? You did all the crap for what?”

“I did all that for you, Johnny.” Paul’s lips curled into a sad smile. “I was just so scared to face the truth and accept it that I forgot that you were scared too. I didn’t consider that you could’ve been terrified of telling me how you felt, and I… I was an idiot.” Although he knew that he was the one being rational for the sake of their public image, Paul fought off his ego and placed it in the backseat of his mind, prioritizing his goal of placating John.

“Oh, would you look at that, you’re admitting to being wrong for once,” John quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes. The silence stretched as his scowl softened, his rage slowly fading away to sadness. “I thought you’d leave me forever, that you were abandoning me for Jane. I don’t want to be right when I say that everyone leaves me. It’s the last thing I want to be right about.”

“You’ll never be right about that, not when I won’t leave you. Not now, not ever.” Paul inched closer to John, seeing the tears cascading down his cheeks and mingling with raindrops. “Y’know, I regret taking so long to say this back to you, but I reckon it’s now or never. It’s about time I tell you how I _truly_ feel. And this feeling, I only feel for you when you’re with me.” With wet hands, Paul cupped John’s cold cheeks and gazed into his eyes, the pools of honey being the small windows to his soul.

“Main hamesha ke lie tumhaara hoon.”

It felt like their lives led up to this moment, every little line connecting and forming one beautiful mandala that intertwined their fate. Every thread of history they shared formed a beautiful tapestry as detailed as Hindu kasheede. With bated breath, John took in the seriousness of Paul’s words to his heart, his heart beating like Dhol drums at the Holi festival.

John’s voice trembled. “So what’s this between us?”

“I thought you already knew,” Paul affectionately tucked brown locks of hair behind John’s ear. “It’s love.”

Love, the warmth of his late mother’s embrace that anchored him to the Earth. Love, the bond that united millions of people around the world to spread their message of peace and love amongst humanity. Love, the man who had been a constant factor in his life, who stuck with him through thick and thin, who loved him when he had nothing and everything at his disposal.

Love, John.

“Main tumse pyar kartha hoon.”

The gravitas of the words crushed John. He knew what those words meant. After all, he was the one who said it first during their first tryst in the forest.

“You serious?”

“Yes, I do.” Paul grinned, radiating joy. “So much.”

“Really, Macca? You’re not pulling my leg or anything?”

“I’m really not.” He laughed and shook his head.

“No jokes? This isn’t a prank you set up? You really mean it?”

“John.”

Tears are the words that the heart cannot express and Paul wiped them from John’s cheeks. At this display of affection, John pounced on him and pressed Paul’s back against the wet soil, the scent of petrichor flooding his senses. Paul, although caught off guard, maintains his hold on his umbrella and shields both of them.

“I love you too, but you should get sappy more often. None of this reserved bullshit. I like it more when you get all love-dovey for me.”

Paul chuckled. “I’m always lovey-dovey for you, y’know.”

“No, I don’t know,” John whispered, a concupiscent twinkle in his eyes. “So make me know it.”

Even with a single hand, Paul quickly propped himself up and passionately pressed his lips against John’s. John let out a surprised yelp but quickly fell victim to the mood and skill of McCartney’s kisses. Damn this talented man! Paul took note of John’s weak knees and pressed him against the tree for stability, ravishing him wildly and peppering his cold skin with kisses. A laugh escaped John’s lips when Paul kisses a ticklish spot on his neck, and he playfully shoved him off.

“Are we boyfriends now?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes,” replied Paul, breathlessly.

John rejoiced. “Fucking finally.”

Icy fingers climbed up his kurta and roamed his skin. Paul shivered from the coldness and can’t help but gasp when John twisted the pink, hardened nubs and played with them. Eager to get more action, John ground against his lap, and sure enough, Paul feels the familiar hardening cock. They break apart for air, lips glossy with spit and red from biting. As their passionate ministrations dragged on, it became to hold the umbrella above their heads.

“Do you seriously want to fuck in the rain?” he asked, incredulous.

“Fuck no,” John growled. “Let’s go to your place before I freeze my balls off.”

Paul laughed, bright and clear. “Alright, let’s get out of this place before we get sick. God knows you’re petulant with a fever.” He took the damp shawl from his shoulder and wrapped it around John, securing it with a simple knot. “I know it’s slightly wet, you can thank yourself for pushing me onto the ground, but wear this.”

John sighed, already trying to take it off. “Don’t be daft, you’ll get cold too.”

“Yeah, you’re already cold.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you know?”

“I saw you shivering, you nit.” Paul playfully jabbed him with his elbow. “Just wear it.”

John grinned, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. “Ever the gentleman.”

As they made their way back to the ashram, Paul felt John’s fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his hand affectionately. He felt John’s head resting on his shoulder, wet hair pressed against his kurta, dampening the cotton. But he didn’t give a damn, not when John was so happy beside him. As the rain raged on, Paul didn’t feel cold.

He felt loved.

**Translations**

**Kurta** \- loose collarless shirt worn by people from South Asia

**Kasheede** – tapestries

**Main hamesha ke lie tumhaara hoon** – I am yours forever

**Main tumse pyar kartha hoon.** – I love you


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After last night's events, something funny happens. Well, unfortunate, but still funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little extra extra cos envy is a very powerful thing, shorter tho

After they discreetly walked back to Paul’s house, they spent the night tossing and turning in each other’s arms, exchanging heated kisses and sweet nothings as the headboard creaked and slammed against the wall. Both figured that they would pay for the property damaged they caused by their intense coupling.

Paul woke up first and sat on the edge of the bed, languidly stretching his stiff limbs. He attempted to stand but failed, only hurting his sore ass in the process. Christ, John’s tendency to be merciless took a toll on him and his tired body was proof enough. Although his body ached all over, the sex was amazing. He felt warm when John held him close and Paul could swear he heard his heartbeat when he snuggled up against his smooth chest in the afterglow. Overall, he was grateful the night ended that way.

As John snored lightly next to him, Paul watched his lover with pure affection in his eyes. There were stray locks of hair obscuring a part of his face, so he tucked him behind his ear. John looked beautiful illuminated by the morning light, honey rays casting painting his bare skin and auburn hair in a honey hue. He looked delicate, angelic even.

A few minutes pass and John’s eyes slowly flutter open.

“Shubh prabhaat,” greeted Paul.

“Shubh prabhaat, meree priye,” John replied, a gentle smile adorning his lips. “Sleep well?”

“Incredibly, even if you were hogging up the blanket.”

John lazily grinned and shifted above Paul. “Mm, a small price for my amazing services.” He kissed Paul firmly, nibbling his lower lip as if it wasn’t slightly swollen already. “Hope I didn’t do a number on you.”

“Look at the headboard and tell me you didn’t.”

John tilted his head to see and sure enough, the wooden headboard slightly cracked and splintered on where both of them gripped it last night. Due to its thinness, it was easy to break, but neither of the men knew that. He whistled, very impressed. “Shit, the Maharishi’s gonna get pissed. We were supposed to be celibate here.”

Paul teasingly traced John’s cock with deft fingertips. “No use for dicks in the compound, huh?”

“Only for gagging you, you cheeky tart.”

The bassist snorted and a laugh escapes his lips before he kisses him again. A warm and light feeling pooled in his stomach when John eagerly reciprocates, responding with a kiss of much gusto. It didn’t take long until their hands started groping tender skin here and there. “We should spend the rest of the week like this. You know, to make up for the time we wasted on quarrelling like a couple of right gits,” said John.

Paul raised an arched brow. Although he wanted the same, he knew that people were going to find them at some point. God knows what would’ve happened if they were to be found busy shagging. “As much as I’d love to do that, you know they’re going to call us for breakfast soon, right?”

“Just say we were trying to compete with that Farrow girl in terms of meditating, it’s believable enough.”

“And by meditating, you mean shoving your cock up my ass and fucking me until the whole bloody house breaks? I know what you’re thinking, don’t think me daft.”

“Oh Paulie, you naughty boy, all these naughty ideas in your naughty head.”

“Aha, but you love it.”

“Guilty as charged. But you have to admit, you were pretty loud last night.”

Paul laughed warmly, shaking his head. “Johnny, you were fucking me like you were going to die if you didn’t, I can’t exactly keep my mouth shut, can I?”

“No, I suppose not,” John chuckled. “Please don’t, I like it when you’re loud. I like the way you scream when you’re fucked out under me with tears in your eyes. I like it when you beg and grind your ass against my cock so I’d finally put it in. I love it when you gasp and whine when I do it and you can feel my cock moving inside you.”

Of course, John’s perverse mind had its perks. This was one of them. A crimson blush creeps its way to Paul’s cheeks, painting his fair face rouge with strong arousal that frayed his senses. Hell, his cock alone was proof enough that he liked it.

“Now _you’re_ giving me ideas, boyfriend.”

“And they’re good ideas if we do them now, boyfriend.” John wrapped his calloused hands around Paul’s cock and stroked it in a quick rhythm. “I can see that junior here likes it too.”

Paul gasped. “Please don’t call my dick that.”

Another laugh escaped John as his hand continued to stroke Paul’s member, increasing the speed in the process. God, Paul loved this man. Why he even tried to deny it was beyond him. He laid there weak and in John’s hands, almost quite literally. The little gasps he emitted soon turned into low, strung out moans that sounded like music in John’s ears, who only encouraged him to be noisier. Paul saw John’s honey eyes watch him with a hunger befitting of a starved and deprived man who saw sustenance. Every word that tumbled out of his lips only egged him on.

“I know you’re close, love. What if I stop now?”

“Don’t you dare stop, y-you fucking twit.”

John guffawed.

The bassist’s doe eyes fluttered shut as he felt his orgasm slowly pent up, an intense heat pooling in his gut. Christ, he was close. He whined. “John, I’m—”

A loud knocking interrupts them and they realize that it was the dreaded wake-up call to gather in the bhojan kaksh. “Fuck,” said John, faltering his grip on Paul’s cock and rolling off him, clearly annoyed by the unwanted disturbance. He wiped his hand on the already-soiled sheets, earning a frown from Paul. Although Paul shared the same sentiments, he wasted no time in feeling upset and rushed to slip on some clean clothes instead.

“John, Paul! We can’t start breakfast without you! Get out of there!” George rapped on the door again, a bit louder this time. “Come on, everyone’s dying of hunger!”

John growled, turning to the door. “Just one blowie, George. Pretty please?”

“What!? Fuck it, I’m telling the Maharishi you died or something.” And off George stormed, leaving a laughing Lennon and McCartney behind closed doors.

In a span of a few minutes, John was still stark naked but Paul was already fully clothed, tugging the hem of his kurta downwards to smoothen out the small wrinkles. He slipped on his sandals and fixed his bed hair, already looking very presentable. “Come on, John, we mustn't keep the people waiting, y’know.”

“But you’re hard!” John reasoned. “More importantly, I’m hard!”

“I promise you I’ll deal with that later, alright?”

John begrudgingly relented. “Ugh, fine. I love you but if you won’t finish me off soon, I’ll have you sued for negligence.”

He scurried off to rummage through Paul’s luggage to pull out another kurta and he pulled it over himself. Eventually, everything he wore was Paul’s clothing and it slightly hung loosely on his svelte frame. Although it sounded stupid, John felt that strange pride and comfort that he could walk amongst his friends wearing Paul’s clothes, like other couples. So maybe those lovesick bastards were right about some things after all.

Paul, who looked at his lover and can’t help but look a little longer, smiled at him.

“Come along now.”

They stepped out of Paul’s home— well, _their_ home now that John fully intended to spend his days and nights sharing _their_ bed— and was surprised by the still-raining outdoors. Paul quickly fetched the umbrella that he had left outside and made their way to the bhojan kaksh, hands interwoven and tightly intertwined. It was still the early hours of the morning and everyone was most likely gathered in the hall, so Paul doubted that anyone could see. They took their sweet time strolling through the centre of the compound, admiring their glistening surroundings as the silence was filled by the rain’s non-rhythmic dancing on the Teflon canopy of their umbrella. The morning light shined on the dew that stuck the leaves made them sparkle like diamonds, which drew their eyes to the thriving nature.

This was the calm after the storm. The clarity after the fog. Paul took a deep breath and thought of how lucky he was that John took him back, to be standing next to him, only stronger and closer than before. Last night wasn’t an opportunity that he could let flow by and he was relieved he didn’t. God only knows what life would’ve been like if he didn’t chase after John, and Paul didn’t want to know what it would’ve been like. For now, he was happy and stable with a loving and calm John Lennon. Countless days ahead awaited to be spent with him.

John, the man who didn’t know he was beautiful, would soon be reminded that he was loved by Paul, the man who saw his worth and beauty every single day.

Once they arrived in the bhojan kaksh, Paul’s hands folded the umbrella and left it outside. Sadly, they had to let go of each other’s hands, which left John itching for physical affection. Even so, they entered the hall and everyone’s faces lit up with relief that said: “We finally get to fucking eat!” after much waiting for the couple. If they noticed how Paul walked in a strange limp-like way, nobody said anything.

“Shubh prabhaat,” Paul greeted Cynthia.

“Shubh prabhaat. How are things with John?”

“Better,” Paul beamed. “Thanks for yesterday, Cyn.”

“No problem, I’m glad to see both of you happy.”

And that was true. As John made his rounds to greet the other guests, he had a little skip in his step and a smile brighter than stage lights that blinded Paul during concerts. Paul could only look at him with pure love, adoration, and pride. God, he was lucky to have John.

Once they’ve said their greetings, they settled down by the breakfast table covered by a beautifully intricate mezaposh laden with dishes such as roti, dosas, idlis, different dips and chutneys, as well as spiced potatoes which had their tantalizing scents wafting through the bhojan kaksh. John inconspicuously sat next to Paul, tapping his shoulder lightly to get his attention.

“Christ, I can’t wait to go home with you,” He whispered.

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Nobody will interrupt us in Cavendish. You and me,” He bumped Paul’s shoulder playfully. “alone on your bed, either having sex or writing songs with nobody to bother us for breakfast of all things.”

The bassists cautiously checked if anyone was listening to their conversation which fortunately wasn’t the case. “Aren’t you randy today?” he whispered back.

John grabbed Paul’s hand and placed it on his crotch. Sure enough, he felt John’s erection at half-mast, throbbing slightly when Paul’s hand made contact. “It’s going down, but it’s still hard.”

“And you called me a cheeky tart,” Paul smirked teasingly. “Look who’s talking.”

“A hypocritical move on my part, I know.”

As they snickered away, they eventually had to compose themselves and behave normally upon the arrival of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who sat at the head of the table. All chatter trailed off into complete silence as he began to speak, ready to begin the meal.

“Mere mitr,” He gestured to the guests, “we are gathered here to celebrate the dawn of a new day with the food that Annapurna has graced us with. We are here surrounded with friends, family, and loved ones of whom we are blessed to be with. Now, we shall give thanks.”

Paul agreed. He was blessed to be with John. Underneath the table, he held his hand and affectionately rubbed the back of it with his thumb, earning a warm smile from him. This was as public as it was going to get, but both were fine with keeping their relationship undercover.

“Bahut dhanyavaad.”

**Translations**

**Shubh prabhaat** – good morning

 **Meree** **priye** – my love

 **Bhojan kaksh** – dining hall

 **Kurta** \- loose collarless shirt worn by people from South Asia

 **Mezaposh** – tablecloth

 **Mere mitr** – my friends

 **Bahut dhanyavaad** – thank you very much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i hope you liked it!! this is my first smut so i lost my fanfic v-card
> 
> comments and kudos hella appreciated


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